


now or never (but maybe again later)

by tanyart



Series: cest la vie [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Kissing, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Older Jean in Eren Wig, Secret Crush, Self-cest, Time Travel, Wigs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1355233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean finds his future self in the barracks.  A lesson in kissing happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	now or never (but maybe again later)

**Author's Note:**

> Some silly time travel nonsense. Special thanks to a rather lovely little comic that made my Jeancest dreams come true.
> 
> Warning for underage kissing between an adult and teen.

The thing about meeting your future self during your own time is the damn annoying sense of _entitlement_ about everything.  Jean guesses his older self deserves to be a little smug, having survived the next four years of his life, but it seems invasive to just go ahead and loot through Jean’s desk for the sake of a little nostalgia trip.  Jean would complain, but he can’t think of a real good reason to technically tell the older version of himself to mind his privacy.  There isn’t a thing Jean can hide and get away with it, especially after a rather a short lived interrogation just to prove they were the same person.

“Could you… not go through my things?” Jean eventually tries.

“You mean _our_ things?”

Jean hadn’t realized how _insufferable_ he could be.

The barracks are thankfully empty, which spares him from having a fit in front of anyone. He’s calmed down a lot since their initial meeting, finally able to stop his restless pacing and sit on the lower bunk of his bed while the full fledge adult version of him upturns his personal trunk, just like a curious child.

After a while Jean even starts to refer to his older self as _Kirschtein_ , just so he can mentally separate himself from the similar yet unknown person in front of him.  For now he contents himself with picking out the miniscule differences between them, though it frustrates Jean that there isn’t much to compare, at least physically.

Kirschtein isn’t that much taller than Jean.  He’s got the same hair, same uniform.  The same disappointingly lanky build. His voice hasn’t even gotten any deeper or rougher—though it does sound like it’s miraculously settled into a consistent register.  And if Kirschtein happens to be a little more self-assured by the set of his shoulders and relaxed stance, it only grates on Jean’s nerves.  After all, Kirschtein still has that stupid habit of making a grimace and putting a hand on his hip when he is exasperated.  No wonder no one takes him seriously.

“What are you staring at?” Kirschtein asks, glancing up from Jean’s journal.  He seems to pick up Jean’s criticizing thoughts.  Of course he would.  “Not what you expected?”

Kirschtein doesn’t sound particularly offended or hurt.  Maybe a bit wry, maybe a bit tongue-in-cheek.  It surprises Jean into saying the second coherent thought he’s had since stumbling into the barracks.

“Where’re those ab muscles I’ve been working on?” he blurts out.

Kirschtein cringes, hand going to his stomach.  “Still working on it, alright?”

“After four years?  Come on.  I thought for sure I’d put on some weight by then.”

“Whatever.  I’ve been busy,” Kirschtein says, aggravated.  He snaps the journal shut and puts it back on the desk before pulling open another drawer.

Jean smirks, which is an odd thing to do after winning a low-blow argument.  He’ll take anything at this point, what with Kirschtein acting so condescending within the first few minutes they’ve been in each other’s company.   

He leans back in his bed, wondering if he should start asking more practical questions.  It’s an uncomfortable itch, wanting to know and _not_ know details about the future.  He doubts Kirschtein got through his four years without fucking up somehow.  Jean turns his head, distracted by the sound of a short laugh and some rustling.

“Hey,” Kirschtein says, pulling out a wig of dark brown hair from one of Jean’s drawers.  It looks like a small dead animal in his hands, which isn’t a huge shock considering it’s supposed to be Eren’s hair.  “I haven’t seen this thing in ages.”

“ _Good_ ,” Jean snaps, sitting up.  “Finally, something I can look forward to.”

To his horror, Kirschtein only puts the wig on, brushing the fringe into place.  It looks _ridiculous_ , a messy mop covering his ears and the back of his head, but Kirschtein turns to Jean, mirroring the crooked smile Jean had worn only moments before.

“So,” Kirschtein says, walking towards him.  He braces one arm against the top bunk frame and leans over Jean.  “You want to know how Eren kisses?”

Jean’s mouth falls open.  His gaze darts from the top of Kirschtein’s head, the flyaway strands of the wig, to Kirschtein’s very _not_ -Eren face.

“ _What?_ ” He doesn’t shriek, but he can’t deny his voice going higher.

“You heard me,” Kirschtein says, taking a seat next to him.  He shrugs, dark hair brushing against his shoulder as he tilts his head.  “You’re about to turn sixteen, aren’t you?  Don’t think I don’t remember what being fifteen was like.”

“I think you should really try remembering harder,” Jean says, panicking.  Does he go completely insane in the next four years?  His whole face heats up.  “You’re not doing me any favors right now.”

“You like him though.”

Jean swears his cheeks are burning hot enough to light something on fire.  Preferably Kirschtein’s face and that stupid wig.  He can’t deny it, not with _him_ , but Jean is still trying to figure out if he _like_ -likes Eren or if he’s having the kind of temporary misplaced infatuation you get when a person just happens to save not only your life but your entire hometown as well.  Either way is terribly confusing at best and infuriating at worst.

Jean glances at Kirschtein.  It’s weird and nerve wracking how matter-of-fact he sounds about the whole thing, and it’s not _nice_ , feeling hopeful when he doesn’t know how it happens and how Kirschtein outright _knows_ what it’s like kissing Eren.

“Yeah, I like Eren,” Jean finally says, stomach in complete knots, and the words feel like they’re being dragged right out of his throat.

To his credit, Kirschtein doesn’t laugh or make that face like he's known all along.  He nods, so maybe he does remember what it’s like to be fifteen after all.

“All right,” he says, briefly looking away.

Jean frowns, noticing how Kirschtein rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed.

And then it hits Jean all at once that, _oh god_ , four years later he still _likes_ Eren.  It isn’t just some sad pity fantasy to fulfill; Kirschtein probably doesn’t want to fuck up something, or maybe he’s trying to teach Jean not to make some stupid mistake along the way.

Jean grabs Kirschtein by the collar, all sorts of panicked and scared—and _so_ desperately curious.

“Show me,” Jean says, leaning close, and instinctively shuts his eyes.

There is a pause, which he assumes is Kirschtein getting over his surprise.  And then there’s the kiss that almost knocks Jean on his back.

His eyes fly open and Jean makes a startled noise against Kirschtein’s mouth.  He can’t see anything, only the dark hair tickling his face, but he can feel every bit of the kiss, every open breath and direct movement of tongue—and in a way it does feel like Eren.  Like how Eren fights or gets into arguments, how he charges into stupid situations head on.

“Push back, match him,” Kirschtein says, when Jean needs to lean away for more air, and that’s an Eren thing too.  He licks his lips and moves forward, hand reaching for Jean’s arm.

Jean tries again, unable to get over the wet, solid warmth of a mouth over his.  It sends his stomach churning and an excited tingle up his spine.  It’s surprisingly easy, imagining Kirschtein’s teeth lightly biting his lower lip to be Eren’s.  He shifts his legs, drawing them up to put more weight into pressing into Kirschtein, enough to make him grip Jean’s shoulder to steady them both.  Jean angles his head, losing a little bit of his nervousness to try something new—a small nudge against Kirschtein’s face to get them to sway into each other.

It works, whatever it had been—their mouths fit for a quick moment and Jean can hear Kirschtein suck in a breath before he moves back.

“Great,” Kirschtein says, sounding annoyed despite his praise.  He rearranges the wig while he considers their positions, a hint of red coloring his face.

Jean still has his hand clinging on to Kirschtein’s sleeve.  He lets go, panting and wiping his damp lips with the back of his hand.  The gesture seems to inspire Kirschtein, who takes his wrist.

“He likes having a hand around his neck.  Yes, like— _gently!_ ” Kirschtein hisses, adjusting Jean’s hold so that his hand is resting on the back of Kirschtein’s neck.  “Shit, you’re not _strangling_ him.”

Jean scowls, but he lets his hand apply a firm pressure on the back of Kirschtein’s neck, drawing him in.  He thinks he understands how Eren might like the push and pull of a kiss.

“One more time,” he growls, and kisses Kirschtein _hard_.

To his disappointment, Kirschtein makes a soft scoffing sound, almost like a muffled laugh.  It makes Jean feel silly for a second, as if he had made a simple mistake, but Kirschtein shoves his tongue into Jean’s mouth, licking and being shamelessly loud about it, and the sounds alone get Jean to move and make a couple of pathetic noises of his own.

Kirschtein cups his hands around Jean’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks.  The wig obscures Jean's vision, dark hair tickling his eyelashes, and in that second, Jean thinks _Eren_ and moans.

Abruptly, Kirschtein’s hands drop from his face.  The older man laughs and shifts away.  He sounds _pleased_ , though his nonchalant attitude is somewhat ruined by the roughness in his voice. “So yeah," says Kirschtein with a grin.  "That’s basically how Eren does it.”

Jean stares, mouth still open and treacherously wanting more.  He wants to punch Kirschtein so bad, which isn’t too far off from how he feels about Eren either.

But, he decides, he wants this. Wants it a lot.

“How do I…” Jean starts, breathless and unable to formulate complete sentences yet. He grimaces, putting his hands in the air in wordless frustration.  “I don’t know.  Get to that… point.”

“You mean get to know Eren better?” Kirschtein corrects, sitting back.

Jean blushes, but he mutters a jumble of words that sound vaguely affirmative.    

Kirschtein seems to get the idea anyway.  “Try talking to him. And I don’t mean fighting or lecturing him.”

“Oh, easy,” Jean says, sarcastic.

“I’m serious,” Kirschtein says, looking amused.  “It’s easier than it sounds.  Ask him about something.  Like how he throws his punches or if you can show him anything new with the maneuver gear.  Shit, ask him how he takes his coffee.”

“He likes _coffee_?”

“Oh,” Kirschtein muses. “Hm. Maybe that comes later.”

“Ugh,” Jean says, throwing himself on the bed.  “But Eren’s… _Eren_.  He’s not going to want to hear a thing I say.  Can’t you give me, like, something more specific?”

Kirschtein raises an eyebrow.

“He’ll come around eventually,” he says, reaching over to grind a fist against Jean’s forehead.  “And so will you.”

Jean glares at him, not liking Kirschtein’s cryptic tone one bit.  He’s about to tell Kirschtein just how much he doesn’t like it with a solid kick off the bunk, but the barracks’ door bangs open, startling them both.

“Jean?” Eren calls out.

“Oh,” Kirschtein says, quiet, and stands up. “Eren! Over here.”

Only, once Eren rounds the corner to his bunk, Jean realizes it’s not the Eren he knows.  The Eren in front of him _definitely_ looks older and taller, with brown shaggy hair tied back into a sad stubby little tail that, somehow against all reason, makes Jean stare and freeze up.

“There you are,” older Eren says to Kirschtein and manages to look relieved and irritated at the same time.  “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

It seems like forever to Jean, watching Kirschtein approach Eren from the false safety of his bunk.  Every little detail in that space of time becomes glaringly clear—how Eren’s eyes light up the moment he finds Kirschtein despite his peeved expression, and the way Kirschtein comes up to cup his hand beneath Eren’s elbow to pull him aside as they lean into each other’s space, easy and comfortable without the slightest hesitation.

It’s so obvious to Jean and he suddenly can’t breathe from the realization—that Eren is just as much in love with Kirschtein as Kirschtein seems to be in love with Eren.  And Jean is no stranger to jealousy; he feels his chest and throat tighten with the white hot irritation of knowing he is going to have to wait four more _years_ for Eren to look at him like that, if ever at all.

He glances away, a little more than ashamed, but turns his head sharply when Eren walks up to him.

“Hello, Jean,” Eren says, brow furrowed.  “This must be really strange for you.”

“H-hey,” he says, scrambling to his feet.  “Yeah. Uh, it kinda is.”

Eren throws Kirschtein a sidelong glance.  “I’m not sure why he’s wearing that… wig. Unless…” Eren blinks, turning to Kirschtein with a look of disbelief.  “Oh, _wow_.  Seducing yourself?  _Younger_ self?”

“Oh, god. Why am I still so embarrassing,” Jean groans, pressing his hands over his face as Kirschtein grabs the wig from his head and flings it away.

Eren seems to have gotten sharper over the years.  He starts to laugh.  “Did you really-?”

“Not seducing, asshole,” Kirschtein says, though it sounds like he is mustering what’s left of his dignity.  He shrugs.  “Just giving younger me some pointers.”

Eren punches Kirschtein on the arm and yanks him close in one motion.  “Are you serious? That’s cheating!”

They turn away from Jean, whispering furiously at each other. Jean rolls his eyes.  It’s a small relief they’ve at least learned how to argue quietly, though it doesn’t stop him from overhearing them.  He picks up on Eren’s exasperation and Kirschtein’s defensive tone, and it’s not out of any loyalty to his older self, but Jean finds himself stepping between them with his hands up.

“It’s my fault,” he says, loud and probably blushing a million shades of pink.  “I asked.  I wanted to know.  How you… uh.  Kissed.”  He mutters the last few words, belatedly noticing how he has to look up at Eren now.

Eren stops in mid-sentence, gaze going from Kirschtein to Jean.  He frowns, and Jean can’t help but look at Eren’s mouth, unfairly fascinated.  It’s not _Kirschtein’s_ mouth, so it’s got to feel different.  Jean clenches his jaw, fighting down the impulse to just take that small step closer and plant one on Eren’s lips.  Cheek. Nose.  _Anything_.

“Don’t you think it’s sort of skeevy,” Eren says, glaring at Kirschtein like it’s _his_ fault.

It annoys Jean enough to let out an impatient noise.

“Shouldn’t you be asking what _I_ think?” he yells, and without a second thought he pulls Eren by the shirt and kisses him, quick and dry against the corner of his mouth.

It is the _tiniest_ kiss, even by Jean’s pathetic standards.  He lets go of Eren, knowing full well it hadn’t been anything like what Kirschtein had shown him, but that’s just fine.  He braces himself, not quite sure who’d be angrier, Eren or Kirschtein.

“You…” Eren begins, and he does sound upset, but there he is, putting his hand over his mouth and turning red at the ears.  His lips press together in a flat, unimpressed line.  “… I remember why you needed all the help you can get.”

“What,” Kirschtein says.

“Hey,” says Jean.

Eren grins, and Jean becomes momentarily stricken again.  He can’t put into words why.  He has seen Eren smile before, and it’s not a big of a deal.  For some reason, when _this_ Eren smiles, it’s different, as if Jean has been looking at it from the wrong angle until now.  He can tell it's not just him either, because Kirschtein is gazing at Eren with a fond look that means he probably gets to see Eren smile that different smile often.

Jean’s heart is about to beat right out of his chest.  He grabs Eren’s wrist, tugging insistently.

“Let me try again,” he says, and waits for Eren to stop laughing at him.  It’s a nice sound anyway, not harsh or mean.  It sounds like Eren is all sorts of fond for him too.

“Fine,” Eren says, and tilts his head while Kirschtein nudges him forward.

Jean doesn’t need any more encouragement. He presses his lips over Eren’s mouth, remembering the firm push Kirschstein had been so keen to point out.  He feels Eren give a little, drawing in a sharp breath, and Jean takes that moment to grab the back of Eren’s neck and pull him closer.

Eren makes a small throaty noise, bumping into Kirschstein as he sways back.  He growls over Jean’s mouth, glaring at Kirschstein.

“You taught him that,” he accuses, trailing off when Kirschtein lowers his head to leave a lingering kiss behind his ear.  Eren shivers.

Jean pulls away to look, but Eren hands go up to either side of his face, keeping him still. His palms are warm against Jean’s cheeks and Kirschtein hadn’t said anything about how Eren’s eyes get that _look_ in them.  Jean forgets how to move, forgets all the little hints Kirschtein has given him.  There’s no escaping anything Eren is going to do to him now.  Jean is in so deep he is having breathing problems again.

And then Eren angles his head, returning the kiss Jean had first given him, tiny and off-centered on the corner of Jean’s mouth.

Jean squeaks, master of totally hot appreciative noises, and he is _this_ close to sinking to the ground and dying if it hadn’t been for Kirschtein’s steadying hand at his back.

“Jean?” Kirschtein says, and has to repeat himself a few for times before he gives up.  “Oh shit.  Eren, you broke him.”

“He didn’t,” Jean says, offended, but he lets Kirschtein lead him to his bunk and sits down.  He puts his head in his hands, blushing furiously.

He can distantly hear Eren and Kirschtein talk while his brain attempts to function again.  Eventually one end of his bed dips, and he finds Eren sitting next to him, brow furrowed once more.

“We should go soon,” Eren is saying to Kirschtein.  “I found a way to go back.”

Jean lifts his head. “Back?”

“Long story,” Kirschtein replies wryly.  “About four years long.”

It takes everything Jean has not to ask any questions, but Eren takes a preemptive step to ensure Jean stays tongue-tied by pressing his mouth at his temple.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, alright?” Eren says, and Kirschtein rolls his eyes behind him.

Jean can only nod dumbly as they leave the barracks, disappearing mysteriously as they came.  He flops back on his bunk, heart still beating fast, and stays frozen on the spot for a full minute before he leaps out of bed.

“Shit,” he says, confused and irritated.  He had so many questions he wanted to ask, but—

Jean runs out of the barracks and stops short when he sees Eren out in the courtyard.  Younger Eren.  The Eren who is still fifteen and pretty terrible in his own right.  Jean scowls.

“Hey, Eren!” he says, walking up to him.

Eren glances up, broom in hand and probably sweeping up leaves as per Captain Levi’s usual orders.   “What?”

“How do you take your coffee?”

Eren stares at Jean like he’s lost it.  After a long, awkward moment, he eventually says, “I don’t like coffee.”

Jean mentally curses himself four years into the future.

“But,” Eren continues, still staring at Jean, “I guess if that’s all we have then I’ll take a cup.  If you’re offering.”

Jean lets out the breath he hadn’t known he had been holding.  The tips of Eren’s ears are pink, and Jean figures he doesn’t look much better himself.

“I don’t like coffee either,” he says.  “But yeah.  It’s all we have.  Come on.  We’ll figure something out.”

Eren smiles, with the barest hint of what Jean guesses it could be, years down the line.

“Right,” Eren says, and follows Jean back into the barracks.


End file.
